


even seasons have changed

by sparxwrites



Series: this place is shelter [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Aliens, Angst, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You!” says Strife, and the delighted shock in his voice is enough to make Honeydew and Lalna frown, Xephos freeze on the spot. “It’s you! I- I thought you- oh, oh my god.” He inhales slowly, tries to calm himself and doesn’t quite manage it – jitters running through him, palms tapping against his thighs to fight the urge to reach out and touch Xephos, pull him into a hug. “I can’t believe it. I thought- I thought you were dead-”</p>
<p>Xephos just stares at him blankly. “I’m sorry,” he says, politely, words a little slow and rusty after so long speaking almost exclusively Minecraftian. “Do I know you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	even seasons have changed

**Author's Note:**

> **stillnotalterego asked:** ok ah..! you know me, i fell hard  & fast for everything shelterfic @w@ language & domesticity wah. so mayb.. somethin continuin that? maybeee w someone new? (strife, lying.. to throw out ideas.) bats eyelashes. u r perf & glorious sparxers.
> 
> flattery will get you everywhere, friend. i mean. there isn’t huge amounts of domesticity in this, and i didn’t end up translating stuff because like half of the dialogue would be unreadable that way, so i guess it’ll get you everywhere other than having an unreliably filled prompt?? hope you like your heart being torn out anyway. title taken from [this](http://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=d5SBYhZyo1s#Anberlin_-_The_Unwinding_Cable_Car).

“ _You_!” says Strife, and the delighted shock in his voice is enough to make Honeydew and Lalna frown, Xephos freeze on the spot. “ _It’s you! I- I thought you- oh, oh my god._ ” He inhales slowly, tries to calm himself and doesn’t quite manage it – jitters running through him, palms tapping against his thighs to fight the urge to reach out and touch Xephos, pull him into a hug. “ _I can’t believe it. I thought- I thought you were dead-”_

Xephos just stares at him blankly. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” he says, politely, words a little slow and rusty after so long speaking almost exclusively Minecraftian. “ _Do I know you?”_

The excitement in Strife’s eyes flickers for a second, his grin slipping ever so slightly. “ _I’m_ -” he says, trying to keep the confusion out of his voice. “ _It’s me? Will? ...William Strife? Your- we-_ ” He pauses, suddenly unsure, licking his lips. “ _We went to college together, we- we shared a dorm. I- you-_

When Xephos still shows no sign of recognition, Honeydew’s fingers brush the well-used pickaxe at his hip. “Xephos?” he asks, slowly, brows pulled together in a frown and a note of warning in his voice

“ _Xephos_?” asks Strife, tone thick with disbelief – although he switches to Minecraftian for the benefit of the other listeners, confusion distracting him from the painfully foreign accent he knows his words must have. “Zef os? _That’s_ what you’re going by now? _”_

“You know him? Are you from the same planet as him?” asks Lalna, immediately, curiosity overriding whatever small sense of social appropriateness he might possess. His eyes are wide beneath “Where’re your freckles, then? Do you actually _remember_ stuff? What’s your technology like, do you have-?!”

“Lalna,” mutters Honeydew exasperatedly, nudging him until he falls silent, faintly apologetic embarrassment written in the twist of his lips.

Strife ignores all but the second question, feels the thick layers of concealer and foundation across his face like grease as he forces a smile. “Yes, I’m- we went to university together,” he says, eyes still locked with Xephos’, a slow sense of dread rising somewhere under his ribcage. “You don’t…?” he asks Xephos, quietly, voice on the edge of pleading. “ _Nothing_?”

“I… Maybe.” Xephos sighs, quietly, and drags a hand through his hair. “Dew, it’s fine,” he says, offers the dwarf a quick smile and watches as Honeydew reluctantly removes his hand from the hilt of his axe. “Honestly. I think Strife and I need to have a small chat. Alone,” he adds, pointedly, when he moves towards the front door and Honeydew begins to follow. “Strife?”

After a moment of hesitation, Strife heads out of the door after him, glancing back at Honeydew and Lalna and the hand once again resting on the axe.

“Sorry about that,” says Xephos, mildly, when the door’s closed behind them. “Honeydew’s a little bit protective, I’m afraid.” He smiles lopsidedly, brushes fingers over one of the many flowering bushes in the neatly-tended front garden, before turning his gaze back on Strife expectantly.

Outside and alone with Xephos, Strife switches out of Minecraftian, away from the heavy sounds and clumsy words to the lisping fluidity of their native language. “ _You don’t remember me_?” he asks, hates how lost he sounds despite his best efforts to the contrary.

“ _Maybe_.” Leaning back against the fence, Xephos chews on his lip and doesn’t quite meet Strife’s eyes. “ _It’s- it’s complicated. I know you, but… I don’t_ remember _much_.” There’s an edge of frustration to his voice, but only an edge – it’s tempered by an acceptance born of too long making his peace with this.

“ _How much do you remember?_ ” asks Strife heavily, dragging a hand over his face. “ _...Anything?_ ” There's a quiet, strained hope in his voice that doesn’t make it all the way to his eyes. “... _Do you even know your own_ name?”

Xephos sighs, drags a hand through his hair and tries to ignore how long it is, a stark contrast to Strife's short-cropped military style. “ _No, I don’t, and I don’t want to,_ ” he says, firmly. “ _I know enough to know there was no one back home who'd miss me._ ”

It's the wrong thing to say. He knows it is, the moment Strife's face crumples, his eyes shut tight and his jaw clenched, and he doesn't know how to take it back.

“ _I was back home,_ ” says Strife, quietly, after inhaling slowly through his nose and letting the breath out in a tight rush. “I _was. I missed you. I looked for you, I_ always- _I thought-_ ” He cuts himself off, bites the inside of his cheek. “ _Never mind. Ancient history now, huh?_ ”

His smile's too bright, too forced and polite, and Xephos doesn't mention it – or perhaps doesn't notice. “ _Ancient history,_ ” he agrees, amicably, his smile far more natural than Strife's, and leans forward with outstretched fingers to brush Strife’s cheek. “... _You’ve hidden your freckles. What colour were they, again?_ ”

Strife flinches at the touch, violently, and Xephos pulls his hand back with a start. His thumb comes away smudged tan with makeup, liquid and powder smeared in a shade just slightly lighter than his own skin. “ _Sorry_! _I didn’t mean to-”_

“ _It seemed wise_ ,” interrupts Strife, stiffly, hoping no green shows through the slight smudge on his cheek. He wants to reach up and touch, to check, but clenches his fists at his sides instead of risking smearing it more. “ _I didn’t- I’ve found that people are more accepting without them. It’s- it’s easier, this way.”_

“ _Oh._ ” There’s a pause, which stretches too long to be anything but awkward, before Xephos speaks again – fighting the urge to speak up in defence of Honeydew and Lalna, to point out their unquestioning acceptance of him when he’d quite literally tumbled into their lives. _“...So. What brings you to Minecraftia, then?_

“ _Expanding_.” Strife shrugs, trying and failing to set aside the ball of spikes still lodged in the pit of his stomach. “ _I’ve got a big business back home, now, and we’re going to new planets. I thought I’d oversee the development on this one personally._ ” He pauses for a second, drags a hand through the short fuzz of his hair, before blurting, “ _I’m a man, here. Whatever you remember from- they’ve got genders here, and I’m a man. A he._ ” Something flickers behind his eyes, raw hurt and cold determination. “ _I’m not repeating college. Not again. They respect men, here. They’ll respect_ me _._ ”

He sounds more hopeful than confident, no matter how forcefully he tries to say it.

Xephos nods, thoughtfully. He doesn’t remember what happened in college, if he ever knew what happened in college, but he doesn’t need to – not with Strife’s voice like an open wound. “ _I use he too_ ,” he says, shrugging, before laughing. “ _Mostly because I couldn’t pronounce_ she _when Honeydew asked what pronouns I wanted. It’s not really important, though. Lalna calls me they when he forgets-”_

He’s cut short by the appearance of Honeydew through the front door, short and stocky and tugging on his messily braided beard. “ _Dinner is good,_ ” he says, clumsy and thickly accented but intelligible nonetheless, and Strife blinks in surprise. “ _They for dinner stay here? We_ -” He pauses, and then grimaces. “Ah, bugger, lost it. Anyways, we’re just serving up, and Lalna wants to know how many he’s gotta set the table for.”

“ _We’re serving food now, and Lalna wants to know how many he needs to set the table for_ ,” corrects Xephos absently, holding out a hand, and Strife’s world sways around him when Honeydew takes it, knots their fingers together with such casual ease that it can only mean one thing.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” asks Xephos, hopefully, freckles brightening at the thought. “There’s plenty of food, Honeydew always cooks for ten people. You’d be more than welcome to stay, even spend the night if you want to.” He smiles, wide and happy enough to break Strife’s heart. “It’s been… well, years since I heard anything from my home planet.”

Strife looks at him, for a long second, _properly_ looks – at the faint creases in the corners of his eyes, around his mouth, how bright his eyes are and how long his hair is. There’s a sword at his hip, a bright jacket and casual shirt hanging off his shoulders, an easy air of confidence and calm. It’s a sharp contrast to the memories Strife has of him – military uniform, close-cropped hair, a phaser in hand, eyes full of nerves and an excited grin on his unlined face.

This isn’t the same person Strife knew.

The realisation settles like lead in his stomach, and he fights to keep it from showing on his face. “I’d… ah, I’d better go,” he says, instead, aiming for casual and managing something uncomfortably close to cold. His obviously foreign accent in contrast to Xephos’ easy, local lilt makes him want to squirm. “Got a lot to get set up before dark, you know, machines and stuff, there’s- a lot to get set up,” he finishes, somewhat lamely.

“Oh,” says Xephos, the surprise and disappointment in his voice making Strife’s throat tighten. “Oh, okay. Another… another time, then, maybe.” He smiles, a little hesitantly, and squeezes Honeydew’s hand by way of comfort.

“Another time,” agrees Strife, without feeling or any intention to keep the vague half-promise held in those two words. For a moment, the world seems to stand still, freeze as it revolves slowly around Xephos – and despite the hair, the lines, the clothes, he looks exactly like he did all those years ago as he’d stood on the transporter pad, smiling and waving before the spaceship swallowed him whole, the touch of his lips still warm against Strife’s mouth.

For a moment, Strife has the strongest urge to close the space between them and kiss him until neither of them can breathe.

Then the urge passes, and instead he holds out an arm, locks their palms together and shakes Xephos’s hand firmly. “It was nice to see you again,” he says, empty words that nonetheless bring a smile to Xephos’ face. “I’ve… _I missed you_.”

“ _It was good to see you._ ” Xephos’ voice is warm, the only warning Strife gets before he’s tugged forward into a hug, head tucked under Xephos’ chin and face pressed against the hollow of his throat. Long-fingered hands brush over his shoulders as Xephos wraps arms around him, and the familiarity of the motion settles like stones in his stomach, the action right but the context so, _so_ wrong. “ _Come visit again soon, friend_.”

Strife closes his eyes, and lets the word lodge itself like a barb into the softness of his chest. “Friend,” he echoes back, hollow and empty. When he pulls away from the embrace, his smile doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.


End file.
